


There Are Many Battle Fields

by themutanthamster



Series: Into Battle [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Fix-it fic, He's Also an Ass, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Mycroft Actually Has a Plan, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-His Last Vow, Requited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 18,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themutanthamster/pseuds/themutanthamster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock finds out John isn't as forgiving as he thought and John finds out that ending a marriage can be more exhausting than a war zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Shutting the Door

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfic so go easy on me. Any comments or suggestions for improvement are welcome. This is neither britpicked nor beta'd so if you find any mistakes feel free to let me know. I'm going to try and update every one or two weeks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has officially reached his limit

He’d tried. Whatever else anyone said he’d tried. Anyone else would have left her immediately, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d forgiven someone for lying about something huge and life-altering.

At least that’s what John tells himself when he grabs his overnight bag and prepares to leave for the last time.

***

When he’d first learned his soon to be ex-wife’s secret he had been angry. Of course he had, he had every right to be angry. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to find his best friend shot and bleeding to death only to discover later that the woman he loved and married was on the other end of the bullet. In hindsight he probably should have ended the relationship right then. But he’d spent months thinking about the woman he’d fallen in love with.

She’d come into his life at just the right time. She’d brought him back to life with her warm smile and her infectious laugh. She was clever and kind and everything he had ever wanted in a woman. So what if she had a dark past? Clearly she wanted to move on and John didn’t want to believe that everything had been faked. She was still the person he loved just with more baggage than he’d thought. Not to mention she was pregnant with his child.

And maybe that would have been enough. Maybe, given enough time, he could have moved past it, started to really trust her again. Returning to their home had not been easy. They’d had a few fights, but they were working it out. At least they were until the last one.

***

It had started as a heated argument about the amount of time John was spending away while he and Sherlock investigated the Moriarty video. Mary shouting about him caring more about the damn case than he did about her. John arguing that this case was a matter of national security and maybe she should care more that a psychotic criminal mastermind was apparently raised from the dead. The fight had carried on for an hour straight without either of them losing steam.

Then Mary had shifted her accusations. She’d stopped shouting at him about caring too much about the case and instead accused him of cheating on her. With Sherlock, of all people.

He can still hear the words she screamed at him:

“So how is he in bed?! That’s what’s actually happening right! All those months at Baker Street when you should have been with me! Did you think you could keep it a secret? Play happy family with your wife and child, and still have him on the side!”

He’d been too stunned to say anything initially but recovered quickly. He was outraged and just about to tell her, in no uncertain terms, just where she could shove those theories when she’d cut him off with the coup de grâce:

“You know what? I wish I had killed him. Maybe then my HUSBAND would actually pay attention to me!”

The moment those words left her lips something shattered inside him. The air was ringing with those words. John stared at her for a minute hoping to see even the tiniest glimmer of remorse, but saw none.

***

Bag now in hand John makes for the exit and hopes he has enough for a cab.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to comment but aren't registered, want to comment anonymously, or just want to drop me a line my tumblr is whyifnotforgayreasons.tumblr.com


	2. I Need An Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shows up at 221B. Again.

The buzzing of the cellphone brings Sherlock out of his mind palace instantly. Snatching it up he looks at the text, hoping it’s Mycroft with more information about the Moriarty video (and oh how it pains him to rely on his brother for information). Instead the text is from John.

“Fight with Mary. Need a place to sleep. –JW”

Sherlock sighs. This is the fourth major fight since John went back to her. Well, three weeks is hardly enough time to work through all the problems in that relationship, and he supposes that letting John sleep at 221B is better than John remaining at home. After all, Sherlock has seen what can happen during heated fights between couples. The last thing Sherlock wants is John and Mary, the ex-army best friend and the less-than-ex-assassin wife, trapped in a flat with access to firearms.

It takes less than 15 minutes for Sherlock to hear John’s slow steps on the stairs. The door opens to reveal an exhausted and pained John Watson. Sherlock gives him a cursory glance, trying to ascertain the severity of this particular argument, and a list of possible reasons it occurred.

_Hmm, brow still furrowed and right hand clenching: didn’t cool down in cab, unusually intense argument. Coat haphazard and shoe laces sloppy: left in a hurry. Won’t meet my gaze, tense shoulders, mouth pressed tight, and jaw clenched: argument about a personal topic he would rather not discuss._

“Hello John. You can set your bag down in the bedroom while I make tea.”

This is their routine when John comes after a fight. John will trudge up the stairs and throw his bag onto the bed. He will then pace for a few minutes, presumably to work out some of his frustration. Then he will trudge back down the stairs right as the tea is ready. Already Sherlock can hear the tell-tale thud of the bag hitting the mattress.

Sherlock finishes adding milk to John’s cup right as John enters the kitchen. He grabs his cup and flops (that really is the only word for it) into his chair. Sherlock sits opposite him, ready to wait until John either talks or suggests they get dinner. It can go either way after a Watson family argument.

It isn’t until John lifts his cup that Sherlock notices his left hand. More specifically, the ring finger of his left hand.

“Where’s your wedding band?”

“Bottom of my bag. At least until I can sell the damn thing,” John mutters, “Though I didn’t think I’d need to tell you that.”

He has a point. That is usually the kind of thing Sherlock notices. But then, Sherlock does have a bit of a history with not noticing things that involve John Watson. Namely the possible problems with Mary. Well, he was trying desperately to get John to forgive him at the time, so he thinks he can be forgiven for his distraction. Sherlock looks at his toes curled on the carpet and hums in agreement.

“So… Um…”

Sherlock isn’t normally this inarticulate but for the life of him he cannot figure out what might be appropriate to say. The normal convention would be to say he’s sorry, but he’s very much not and since the “Not Dead” debacle he’s made a promise not to lie to John unless absolutely necessary. He could tell John that statistic probability foretold that the marriage would end, not even including the extenuating circumstances, although John will likely be more upset by this. He definitely should not tell John that he’s happy he has finally seen sense and left her.

Actually, Sherlock’s not sure this is a permanent separation. John certainly seems serious about this now but he could calm down in a day or two and go back. He viciously clamps down on the hope beginning to warm his gut and decides he needs to know more.

“May I ask what happened?


	3. I Just Want a Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John owes Sherlock an explanation, but some things are hard to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said updates every week or two but I figure I might as well post something a bit more substantial.

The anger and pain rears up again at Sherlock’s question. John drops his gaze to his mug. His fingers grip just that much tighter, turning his knuckles white. He really _really_ doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He knows if he tells Sherlock to leave it alone he will, at least for a few days. He also knows he probably should talk about it. His old therapist would certainly want him to talk about it. Maybe, for once, talking about it will help.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

John tells himself he needs some time to cool down before reviewing the argument that ended his marriage. He should at least wait until he isn’t holding his favourite mug. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be calm enough to discuss what happened without smashing Sherlock’s dishes (and beakers, and test tubes, and that microscope would look brilliant crashing through the front window). He definitely needs time to calm down.

“All right,” Sherlock murmurs, “but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

John looks up and meets Sherlock’s concerned gaze. The knot in his chest, the one that’s making it hard to breathe, unwinds a bit. John relaxes into his chair and takes another sip of his tea. They sit like that for a while, until the sun has set and his watch tells him its 10:30. The knot unwinds bit by bit until John feels more exhausted than angry. He brings his mug into the kitchen and tells Sherlock he’s going to bed.

***

The shower washes away the remaining tension from his shoulders. John dries his hair as he heads to the spare bedroom. His ring bounces onto the mattress as he pulls out his pajamas. Another wave of hurt washes over him as he stares at it, and his hand trembles while he throws it back in his bag. He collapses on the mattress and glares at the ceiling.

Despite his exhaustion John doesn’t fall asleep for another two hours. He can’t get her face out of his mind. He keeps seeing her vindictive smile as she screamed the words he cannot forgive. He tosses around under the blanket until he hears the faint sound of a violin. Listening closely he focuses on the soothing sound of what he recognizes as Brahms Lullaby. His mother used to play it for him when he was ill. He smiles and finally drifts to sleep.

***

John wakes up peacefully. The sun is just beginning to enter his window. He stretches, sighing as his joints pop. He doesn’t have work today so he keeps his eyes closed and thinks maybe he can sleep another hour or so. He shifts to look at the clock but when he opens his eyes the previous day comes rushing back.

Unable to remain in bed and deeply annoyed that his morning is ruined he changes and heads down to the kitchen for tea.

***

Sherlock hears John shuffling around his room and flicks on the kettle. He considers popping some bread in the toaster but John may think he’s being coddled and that would not improve his mood. Sherlock turns to his microscope as he hears John on the stairs. Better that John think he’s in the middle of an experiment than learn that Sherlock spent the night reading up on family law. Really this hope thing is getting rather ridiculous. John hadn’t mentioned divorce, or even long-term separation. He really ought to delete everything he’d researched last night. But then what if…

John’s muttered good morning brings Sherlock out of his reverie.

“Kettle’s on,” Sherlock replies absently, hoping he looks sufficiently engrossed by whatever slide he’s studying.

John pulls down two mugs and soon deposits a steaming cup of tea by Sherlock’s elbow on his way to the sitting room. Sherlock glances at the back of his head before grabbing his tea and heading for his own chair.

***

They spend an hour in silence, John studying the newspaper, Sherlock studying John. Eventually John runs out of pages to pretend to read, so he sets the paper down. Sherlock is looking at him expectantly. John knows he owes Sherlock an explanation for why he showed up on his doorstep at 7 pm. Usually the explanation is easy to give. Of course telling Sherlock Mary yelled at him for missing the dinner they’d planned with their neighbours is a lot different than telling him Mary accused him of cheating on her, with Sherlock, and that she wished that shot had been fatal.  

John takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. A glass of whiskey would make this easier but it’s much too early to drink (despite what his sister would tell him). In the absence of liquid courage he decides to start with the easy things.

“I may have to stay here a few more days, maybe a week.”

“All right,” Sherlock says, slowly nodding.

“Just until I can find a place to rent.”

Sherlock cocks his head and narrows his eyes, “You aren’t planning on going back.”

It’s not a question and the truth still stings. John shakes his head, unable, for the moment, to speak. Maybe it isn’t too early for a drink after all.

“Well don’t bother searching, you can obviously live here.”

Sherlock says it like it solves all John’s problems. However, John suspects moving back to Baker Street would only make things more complicated.

“I can’t move back here Sherlock.”

“Your room is still free. Mrs Hudson would love to have you back,” Sherlock argues, “and you already know that your half of the rent would be manageable so…”

John cuts him off.

“I can’t live here Sherlock. At least not right now. Believe me I’d love to but I need the space to sort this all out and if I were here I would inevitably get caught in casework and I need that time for solicitor appointments and possible court dates. And it’s really not a good idea for me to live with you until this is all sorted because she… well… she…”

John swallows around the lump in his throat. As much as he does not want to say it out loud he must. It’s the only way he’ll get Sherlock to let it go.

“She… fuck… she accused me of having an affair. With you.”


	4. Things I Can't Tell a Judge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs a better explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out I have zero self-control and I'm writing faster than I thought I would, which means you get another chapter sooner. I'm thinking the weekly posting will end up more of a guideline. You may also notice a rating change and some new tags. I finally have an exact knowledge of where this story's going (amazing what a little research can do). Again, any comments are welcome and sorry for talking so much.

Sherlock sits stunned for a minute, watching John’s heavy breathing. He cannot believe what John's saying. That she could question John’s loyalty and honour, after he had forgiven her for all her lies was inconceivable.

“So you see why I can’t live with you. “

John’s voice captures his attention. Sherlock looks at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to give her even more leverage in court if she defends the divorce. If I immediately start living with you then it will look like the accusation is true.”

Sherlock still feels dumbstruck, but his brain is trying to catch up.

“But it isn’t true,” he states, “She has no proof.”

“Sherlock, I spent all those months living here after you’d been shot,” explains John, “Honestly I’ve spent most of my marriage living with you. That really doesn’t look good.”

“But…”

Once again John cuts him off, not that he had a good argument.

“Sherlock, I’m not even sure I have legal grounds to divorce her. It’s not like I can go into court and say to a judge ‘I unknowingly married an ex-assassin living under an assumed identity. She shot my best friend and that’s why I want a divorce’.”

Sherlock is once again confused.

“I thought you had moved past that. You forgave her. And the shot wasn’t meant to kill me.”

John jumps up; his expression hardening into a mask of pure frustration and annoyance.

“Do NOT try to tell me that shot wasn’t supposed to kill you,” orders John, “I’m a doctor Sherlock, an ex-army doctor. I’ve seen more bullet wounds than I can count. I know for a fact that a bullet wound to the chest can very much be lethal, if not from the wound then from blood loss. For fuck’s sake, they were about to pronounce you dead! And she didn’t care either way. In fact, if I remember correctly, she promised to finish the job before she pointed the gun at ME!”

Sherlock watches John catch his breath. His brain is still muddling through Mary’s accusation. He still needs more data.

“I thought you wanted to divorce because she accused you of having an affair with me.”

John sighs, for once the one frustrated by the other’s slowness, “That’s the reason I can give a judge.”

“That implies you have a different reason. And I know you forgave her for that whole Magnussen mess, secret past and gunshot wound included.”

***

John’s shoulders slumped in resignation and his eyes find an interesting stain on the floor. He had hoped he could keep the full explanation to himself. He doesn’t know why he thought he could do that with Sherlock but he _is_ a master of self-delusion.

“I tried Sherlock, I really did. I convinced myself once it was over that she was sorry. I completely ignored my better judgement and every bit of medical training I possess. I just kept remembering the kind woman who helped me move past my mourning. I wanted to see if that woman was real. And she’s pregnant Sherlock. How could I abandon my child? I was ready to forgive anything as long as I could keep my daughter in my life. But I have limits, Sherlock. And, well, she found one.”

John pauses to take a breath and finally glances up at Sherlock. The concern is back on his face and he nods at John to continue. John takes another breath to steady himself, wanting the ground to swallow him whole and knowing if he doesn’t say it now he never will.

“She said she wished you had died so I would pay attention to her,” he blurts out, deciding to go for the “quick and painless” approach. Well, not so much painless, more forced.

***

Sherlock’s eyes widen in shock. His fingers clutch at the armrests of his chair. It’s only a minute, though, before Sherlock collects himself and reluctantly prepares to prevent John from doing something rash.

“John, sometimes people say things in the middle of an argument that they don’t really mean. They lash out with their own hurt to make you feel bad.”

John is shaking his head.

“You weren’t there Sherlock. You didn’t see her face. She was smiling. She was smiling when she said it. She was smiling after she said it. She was smiling when I walked out the door. Most people, when they say things they don’t mean, will realize it if you just pause a minute. They recognize that what they said was a bit not good. She didn’t care at all. And it shattered me, it fucking shattered every single delusion I’d created in order to forgive her. I can’t… sod it, I can’t make it work anymore.”

Sherlock sees the pain and sadness written all over John’s face. He can’t stand to see John hurting that bad. It’s even worse than when he watched John talk to his gravestone. So he whispers, never more sincere:

“I’m so sorry John.”

 And he watches as John’s self-control shatters.

 


	5. I've Heard It's Cathartic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets his much needed release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to try updating every Monday and Thursday, since I clearly have no self-control when it comes to waiting when the chapter is written. I'll notify if I have to change this.

John is very talented at suppressing his feelings. It’s a trait that has frustrated therapists and girlfriends alike. Look up the phrase ‘stiff upper lip’ and there will be a picture of Dr John H Watson. It takes a lot to break through his carefully constructed stoicism. His nightmares did it. Sherlock’s death did it. And now that whispered apology does it.

All the stress of the past year comes crashing down and John’s self-control crashes with it. The first hot, humiliating tears push their way out and he is helpless to stop the rest from falling. If it had been anyone else with him, anyone at all, John thinks he could have held it together. But this is _Sherlock_ , he trusts Sherlock with his life. Sherlock will not judge him. So John gives in to the tears that have threatened since Sherlock first came back from the dead.

***

Sherlock watches John’s quiet tears turn into supressed sobs. He rises from his chair and guides John onto the sofa. He wants desperately to do something but finds himself, once more, at a loss. John is starting to hyperventilate and all Sherlock can do is sit beside him. Sherlock tentatively reaches out and puts his arm around John’s shoulders waiting for John to shrug him off. Instead he turns into Sherlock’s shoulder, his crying now muffled by cotton. Sherlock risks tightening his hold and immediately feels guilty for enjoying their closeness. John is still not objecting though, so Sherlock decides to remain as he is for as long as he is allowed.

***

John calms down some forty-five minutes later. His sobs even out and his tear ducts run dry. It takes him a second to realize he’s clinging to Sherlock’s t-shirt like a toddler. It takes him half of that to scramble away.

“Shit, Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

His face, still red from his crying, turns even darker with his embarrassed blush.

“It’s no problem John. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You have been through a lot and crying can be cathartic. At least, so I’m told.”

Sherlock’s smirk should not look so understanding. And his attempt at a joke should not be comforting. John feels better anyways.

“I know crying can be cathartic. I’ve actually prescribed it a few times. But, um, that’s not what I was apologizing for. I was actually apologizing for, er-”

John gestures in the general direction of Sherlock’s shoulder, now damp with tears.

“Oh! No, that’s perfectly all right. No harm done. I’ve read somewhere that crying with another person present is more helpful than crying alone. And frankly you’ve dealt with me doing much worse so it’s fine. It’s all fine.”

John smiles at Sherlock’s flustered words.

“Then thank you. For, you know. Tea?”

Sherlock looks grateful for the change of subject and nods. John flicks the kettle on and goes to the bathroom while the water heats. His eyes are red and puffy in the mirror. He splashes cold water on his face and takes a deep breath. All his emotions are locked back in their boxes. He rolls his shoulders and returns to making tea.

***

Sherlock watches John walk to the bathroom and takes a deep breath. He gets up and walks to his bedroom, intent on changing his shirt. Now that he isn’t focused on John he can finally think about what John said. He’d known Mary didn’t regret shooting him. John was right when he said she didn’t care either way.

At least that is what he’d suspected but now he isn’t sure. While people do say things they normally wouldn’t during an argument, they’re usually telling the truth. Extreme emotions, being just as potent as alcohol in the lowing of inhibitions, allow people to express their deepest sentiments and opinions. And following this logic, Mary now wished him dead. This wouldn’t be so concerning, her sentiment being the result of petty jealousy, but she is an assassin, a very good assassin. Perhaps he would benefit from being extra cautious for the time being.

He returns to his chair as John starts pouring water into their mugs.


	6. I Don't Need the Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knows he can't move back into 221B but try telling that to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter today, which is really saying something considering none of my chapters have been long. I may post another to make up for it. As always comments are welcome.

John spends the rest of the morning rereading the newspaper (and actually reading it). He focuses on each story and does his best to ignore and forget the last two hours. Sherlock appears to be doing the same while experimenting on what John thinks is an ear. The quiet is comforting, broken only by the occasional hiss from the kitchen. His stomach breaks the quiet around noon.    

“Is it safe to make a sandwich?”

Sherlock makes a small noise that John takes for confirmation and heads to the kitchen.

“Can I use your laptop? Mine’s still at Mary’s.”

He throws the question out casually, or at least tries to. He has to consciously refrain from calling the other flat home. It twinges a bit but not as much as he thinks it should. Then again, he’d only recently stopped considering 221B to be home. Really that says a lot about how well he’d moved on.

***

Sherlock is rather focused on the ear in front of him but he catches the way John doesn't refer to the other flat as home. It feels better knowing that John is entirely serious about the separation. He glances at John, still seemingly engrossed in his experiment. He notes John’s casual stance and the tension in his shoulders that betray the emotions that still simmer just below the surface. Instead of commenting (normally he would but this is John) he just mutters “Fine.”

“Thanks. What’s the password?”

This question gives Sherlock pause. The current password for his laptop is _j0Hn1895007_ (stupid, ridiculous sentiment). It isn't exactly a subtle hint and even John would realize what it signifies.

“Let me put it in. You’ll never remember it.”

John sighs and rolls his eyes, but he does bring the laptop to the kitchen table.

***

John browses real estate websites for the next four hours. He’s still browsing when Sherlock passes by, likely headed for his violin.

“I still say you could move back here.”

John rubs his temple and chuckles. Realistically, he could move back to 221B. It probably wouldn't make much of a difference, given that Mary will likely make her argument using the months before Christmas. However, he doesn't want any distractions while he figures this divorce out. And Sherlock is a full six feet of elegant, attractive (observant) distraction. The months he’d lived here after the shooting had done much to rekindle some of the feelings he’d had before Sherlock jumped but he’s still having trouble remembering how he hid those feelings. The last thing he needs right now is to split his attention between the inevitable custody battle and how he acts around Sherlock.

“I told you I can’t give Mary more leverage or get distracted by cases. I’ll still help you out with the Moriarty thing of course, but I won’t have time for every call you get from Lestrade.”

Sherlock grunts and picks up his violin.


	7. I'm Ordering Chinese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John moves into his new flat and Sherlock is not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the other chapter I promised. Again, it's rather short, but future chapters will be longer.

“Are you certain you can’t stay here?”

John picks up his bag and rolls his eyes.

“Sherlock, I told you why I can’t. And I thought you hated repetition.”

Sherlock drops into his chair. He’s glaring at John.

“But no judge could possibly be idiotic enough to believe her accusations. Not when we both deny it.”

“Sherlock, I just need to go about this carefully. I don’t want her having any more leverage.”

John heads to the door and Sherlock jumps up to follow him.

“But what about cases John! What if I need you on a case!”

John sighs. This is the fourth time they’ve had this argument this week.

“Then you can text me and I’ll decide if I can help. Things are going to be busy soon and I can’t be distracted by cases all the time.”

Sherlock follows John into the cab. He definitely looks ready to argue more. John cuts him off before he can begin.

“Look, this isn’t necessarily a… permanent arrangement. I need to wait until I can get the decree nisi at least. Then I can think about it.”

“But that could be ages! Several months at least! And that’s assuming she doesn’t defend or file her own petition!”

Sherlock definitely sounds like a whiney six year old. And he is right. It really could be months before he can even think about filing for a decree nisi, and that’s assuming he can find a legal reason that she doesn’t defend against. His research into the matter hadn’t really helped. He might get away with unreasonable behaviour, calling her accusations verbal abuse. Or he would simply have to wait 2 years and file using the grounds of separation, although, that wasn’t the preferable option. At least he still had four months to figure it out.

“I know Sherlock. But it has to be this way. I need the space to get my feet under me again, not to mention I need the time and energy to convince Mary to let me see my daughter.”

Actually, now that John’s thinking about it, his daughter might be another reason he should avoid living at 221B. A judge will hardly grant him any kind of custody or visitation rights if he’s living surrounded by toxic chemicals and body parts.

John considers how he might fit his daughter into his life of murder and mayhem as the cab makes its way to his new flat.

***

His new flat is small and rather dull, but the rent is cheap and it came fully furnished. The latter is particularly nice considering John doesn’t have any furniture of his own. All his clothes are already in the bedroom and the shelf by the sofa is filled with his books and movies, courtesy of Greg who helped him move his boxes yesterday.

He watches Sherlock survey the flat, clearly disapproving.

“Baker Street is much nicer.”

John smiles, a bit wistful but he knows he made the right decision. He notes the time on the stove.

“Well, since you came all the way out here to comment on my boring flat why don’t you stay for dinner? Chinese?”

Sherlock smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“If you insist.”


	8. My Gun is By the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds a package on his doorstep.

John settles into his new flat quickly. It’s close to the tube and within walking distance of the clinic he applied to three days ago (he may be much calmer but he can’t go back to the other one, the one where he met Mary). The sheer dullness of it has yet to wear on him, although, he has been spending most of his time at Baker Street or the clinic.

All in all it’s been nice to be away from Mary. He no longer has to worry about dinner dates and game nights. He doesn’t feel on edge because any moment could erupt in a fight. He knows he’s smiling more and he doesn’t have much to worry about until May. He can’t relax completely though. Part of his brain keeps reminding him that Mary’s due date is soon, any day now really. He doubts she’ll call him when it happens but he does have acquaintances at all the nearby hospitals. Someone would phone him.

***

Two days later he returns from Tesco to find a message on his phone (which he had forgotten on the counter) and a package on his doorstep. The phone call is from the hospital telling him his wife has given birth. The package is a paternity testing kit.

***

“Presence required at Bowes. –MH”

Sherlock grabs his coat while he reads the text, trying to figure out why he’s needed at John’s flat. Given the date it would be easy to assume it has to do with Mary giving birth, but that would not require his presence. And Mycroft certainly would not be texting him about something so trivial (to the British Government at least). His brain starts listing all the horrible reasons he would be needed. He hadn’t quite managed to dismantle Moriarty’s entire web. It is possible someone has decided to finish what Moriarty started.

Sherlock quietly panics in the back of a cab all the way to Bowes Road.

***

When John answers the door he’s smiling. Sherlock knows this smile. He last saw it when he and John confronted Mary. It’s filed in his Mind Palace as _The Smirk of Impending Doom_ (a bit dramatic but then he’s always been a drama queen). He immediately understands why Mycroft would think his presence necessary.

“Hello John. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I would stop by. May I come in?”

“Sherlock, get out.”

Clearly the “polite and normal” approach was a wrong choice. Of course it was. John hates normal. Perhaps the “blunt and confident” (read “rude and arrogant”) approach will prove more effective.

“John, clearly you are angry and I refuse to leave you alone whilst you are contemplating murder.”

Sherlock pushes past John and enters the flat. A quick glance around shows John’s phone lying on the floor beneath a just perceptible (at least to Sherlock) dent in the wall, and a partially unwrapped package showing the label of a well-known DNA testing lab.

“Ah- I see.”

 “Oh lovely, you see it too. I was hoping it was some kind of hallucination,” John’s voice drips with sarcasm as he stalks to his phone.

“John, what-“

“A paternity test. A sodding paternity test. The same day she gives birth I get a bloody paternity testing kit. Meaning that child, who was the only reason I bothered trying to work things out, Might. Not. Be. Mine.”

His speech is clipped and his voice is incredibly quiet. Sherlock can’t help but wonder where John keeps his gun and how he can stop John from getting it. John, of course, notices his eyes flickering around the room and makes the correct assumption.

“The gun is beside my bed.”

John is glaring at him and his trigger finger twitches minutely. Sherlock recalls many of his “danger nights” spent with John being the only reason he didn’t relapse. He thinks that having someone around might do the same thing for John, only the danger here is violence rather than cocaine.

“I see,” Sherlock hedges, pausing to choose his words, “John perhaps you should spend the next few days at Baker Street?”

John seems to think about the suggestion for a minute before nodding.

“Probably a good idea. Just let me get some clothes.”

John heads to his bedroom and Sherlock follows, still thinking of the gun beside the bed. John doesn’t comment on his hovering and Sherlock watches him drag his bag out from the closet. Sherlock shifts to lean against the wall and pulls out his phone to call a cab.

 


	9. I Didn't Want Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John contemplates parenthood and Mycroft finally makes an appearance.

The cab back to Baker Street is tense. John stares out the window fuming, feeling Sherlock’s gaze on his back. He knows he shouldn’t march into the hospital with a loaded gun, but damn if it isn’t tempting. Which is exactly why he took Sherlock’s offer. He wants the comfort of 221B and the distraction of a case. He wants body parts in the fridge and violin music at three in the morning. He wants it to be permanent, not just a few days. It can’t be though. Despite this new development most of his previous concerns about moving back remain. He needs to wait until he gets the decree nisi and, if the test results are what he thinks they will be, getting the divorce just got easier.

***

Sherlock can feel the tension radiating from John as they approach Baker Street. He’s happy that John accepted his offer. Otherwise he would have had to kidnap him, and that was never pleasant. Maybe once John is back in 221B he will calm down enough for Sherlock to allow him near firearms.  He turns to look out his own window and wonders about the implications of the paternity test. If the results come back and John isn’t the father Sherlock knows he will be even more devastated, but getting a divorce will be easier. Even if John is proven to be the father, asking for a paternity test can be construed as an admission of infidelity, once again making the divorce easier. Sherlock will never call himself an optimist, but at least this cloud has a silver lining.

***

When they arrive at Baker Street Sherlock immediately goes to fix them tea, expecting a similar routine as before. John does indeed head to what Sherlock still thinks of as his bedroom, but he comes back down immediately after throwing his bag on the bed. As a result, the kettle has yet to boil when he sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and rests his head on his arms.

“I should have known.”

“You should have known what?” Sherlock asks, genuinely confused by the muffled statement.

John lifts his head to respond.

“That the kid wasn’t mine.”

“How could you have possibly known that?” demands Sherlock, bemused.

“Any idea what the probability of pregnancy is when both a condom and birth control medication are used? Absolutely miniscule. Even just one method has a ninety nine percent success rate. That’s why I was so shocked when you said she was pregnant. I should have suspected something then.”

John sounds like he’s moved beyond fury and is settled into depression. Sherlock hates it when John is depressed.

“But there’s still a possibility, no matter how small. Condoms do fail, medication isn’t always effective.”

Sherlock does his best to sound encouraging and the corners of John’s mouth lift just a bit.

“You being optimistic is strange and unnatural, I hope you know that. Anyway I honestly think I’m more upset that she was cheating on me the whole time and dared to accuse me of infidelity than I am that I might not be a father.”

Sherlock smirks at the comment about his optimism but raises an eyebrow at the rest.

***

John smiles a bit at Sherlock obvious inquisitiveness. He breathes in the familiar smell of 221B (formaldehyde and dust, the smell of home) and prepares to explain himself.

“I’ve never given much thought to having kids and my career choices have never really given me the option. I’m not necessarily opposed to being a father but really I’m not that enthusiastic about parenthood. Of course I was excited when you said Mary was pregnant, but I never really expected to have children and I’ve actually been freaking out for the last nine months.”

“Career choices?”

John scratches the back of his head at Sherlock’s question and smirks at the table.

“Yeah, the army doesn’t allow much time for child care. And chasing criminals with you is too dangerous with a kid around. Don’t want my child kidnapped in a sort of twisted revenge. Not to mention you chased away all of my dates.”

“Horribly boring women, all of them.”

John watches Sherlock dismiss them with a wave of his hand and a smirk. The remark is so ridiculous that John starts laughing. He hasn’t laughed in months and now he can’t stop because the whole situation is ridiculous, and Sherlock is laughing too. Laughing turns to chuckling turns to giggling and John meets Sherlock’s gaze and is struck by how much he loves him. John can’t stop staring at him and sees a fondness in Sherlock's gaze that sparks hope in his chest.

“Sherlock-“

“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

The condescending question comes accompanied by the tap of an umbrella of the floor.

 


	10. May I Offer My Condolences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft comes bearing some news, but John's a bit too annoyed to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 10 chapters already. Time flies when you're emotionally torturing John Watson. Thank you all for reading this far, please remember to let me know what you think!

Sherlock doesn’t know if he should be grateful for his brother’s timing. On the one hand John had obviously seen his smitten stare and was about to say something, on the other hand John hadn’t sounded offended or disgusted, and the look in his eyes-

He decides he wants Mycroft gone so he can explore this new information.

“What do you want Mycroft?”

Sherlock looks over at John, who is oozing annoyance. Clearly Sherlock’s not the only one irritated by Mycroft’s sudden appearance.

“I’ve come to see if Sherlock has made any more progress with the video.’

A surge of (mildly irrational) fury goes through Sherlock. Mycroft should know that no progress has been made. He never gave Sherlock enough information to work with.

“Of course I haven’t made any progress. The only information I have is that Moriarty is in fact dead and someone is trying very hard to make it seems otherwise.”

Mycroft gives him a cold smile.

“Which is why I am also here to tell you that my people have found no evidence of hacking. The person or persons who sent out the video already had access to the networks.”

“An inside job? Well that does narrow down the suspect list significantly. If I could just narrow down a motive-“

Sherlock walks to the sofa. Mycroft turns to leave but pauses at the door.

“I’m sure you will figure something out. And John? My condolences.”

He walks out the door with a nod.

***

John hates Mycroft. Absolutely despises that man and his appalling timing. Because of him Sherlock is laying on the sofa in his usual thinking pose and they’re not going to have any kind of discussion about that look that passed between them. The look that has John thinking maybe, just maybe his hopes aren’t so hopeless after all. And then Mycroft has the gall to offer his condolences (not exactly relevant says the small, logical part of his mind). Well he can take those condolences a shove them up his-

“John, quit pacing. It’s very distracting”

John jumps at Sherlock’s sharp reproach.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit worked up yet. Think I’ll head for bed.”

***

The shower is hot against his back and helps wash away the disappointment. It will do him no good to be agitated over missed opportunities, especially since he needs to convince Sherlock to let him go back to his flat in the morning. Sherlock will likely still be hesitant to allow him around his gun but he wants to retrieve the test. He might as well get it over with, for his own peace of mind. Being even vaguely irritated will not help his cause.

He leaves the bathroom and goes to collapse on his bed. He’s exhausted after his trying day and falls into a surprisingly deep sleep.

 


	11. It's a Long Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets the test results.

Sherlock does agree to let John go back to the flat on the condition that he accompanies him. He’s not particularly worried about John getting his gun but it does pay to be cautious. They are in and out in a matter of minutes.

John spends the ride home insisting that he should send the test in today. Sherlock is not sure it’s a good idea. He privately thinks John should take some time to let the idea he might not be a father settle. For all John’s insistence to the contrary Sherlock believes he really was looking forward to being a father. However, John has a stubborn look in his eye that doesn’t bode well for any argument Sherlock wants to make.

***

The paperwork and testing takes a mere 5 minutes. John includes a request that the results be sent to him, unsure if Mary included his name on the list of recipients. It takes another 10 minutes to post it. John heads back into 221B knowing it will only be a matter of a few days before he gets the results.

***

It’s a long few days. John is frenetic, switching from non-stop pacing around the sitting room to non-stop fidgeting in his chair with tea. Frankly it is wearing on Sherlock’s nerves. The only time he gets any respite is when John leaves the flat. Sadly John only works one shift while they wait.

While Sherlock still thinks it’s too soon for John to handle the results he needs them to arrive, if only to give him a bit of peace in which to think about the video case. He’s tried channeling John’s energy into research, but at this point the most effective thing for them to do is talk to people and last night John snapped at the delivery person for fumbling the change.

Sherlock is e-mailing a few telecommunications executives from John’s laptop (his is across the room) when a new e-mail pops up. He looks at the sender, thinking it’s too early for anyone to have gotten back to him.

“John?”

“What is it Sherlock?” John shouts back from his bedroom.

“John, the results are back!”

Sherlock hears John’s bedroom door slam open and his footsteps running down the stairs. John stomps to his side and Sherlock mutely gives him his laptop. John drops beside him on the sofa and takes a deep breath before opening the e-mail.

***

_Dear Mr. Watson,_

_After multiple tests our techs have conclusively found that you have no paternal connection to the child in question. Detailed results are attached._

_We would like to remind you that these tests are for peace of mind only and are not admissible in court. If you would like to register a legal test please see our website for details._

_If you have any questions please contact us._

_Melinda Jones,_

_BioLab DNA Services_

***

Sherlock rereads it for the third time before turning to fully look at John. He’s staring blankly at the screen. He also does not appear to be breathing. Sherlock gently removes the laptop from his hands and crouches in front of him, ready to coax him out of his stupor.

***

“John. John, look at me. John, come on. Take a deep breath. John-“

John slowly blinks at the sound of his name. His eyes gradually focus and he vaguely recognizes Sherlock’s silhouette.

“Sherlock?”

“That’s it John. You’re in shock. Now I need you to take a deep breath for me okay?”

It’s the gentleness in Sherlock’s voice that finally snaps him out of it. Sherlock is never gentle.

“I- I-“

Sherlock’s face is gentle and concerned and it doesn’t look right to John.

“It’s all right John. Lie down and I’ll make you some tea.”

John follows instructions and feels a blanket cover him before Sherlock’s footsteps fade.

***

Sometimes Sherlock hates being right. Granted it’s a rare occurrence but it does happen. He watches the water heat in the kettle and tries to think of what to do now. He’s still thinking when the kettle boils. He takes the steaming mug out to John.

He’s still lying on the couch when Sherlock enters the room. Sherlock sets the mug on the table and moves to check if John’s awake. He shakes his shoulder and whispers his name. John grunts and sits up. Sherlock hands him his tea and sits on the opposite end of the sofa.

***

John drains his mug in two long pulls, disregarding the temperature. The familiar drink settles his nerves, letting the logical part of his mind finally remind him that he expected this while rest of his brain lets him know that expecting it in no way lessens the pain. He settles into the arm of the sofa, using it for support, and faces Sherlock.

“What am I going to do now?”

 


	12. You Could File Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to John bringing good news, but he doesn't like the John he finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the John Watson Emotional Trauma fest. Almost time to move on with the story.

John remains at Baker Street for another week, not wanting to face an empty flat. Eventually he does go back. He still has months before he can file for divorce and now, more than ever, he needs to start planning. He should start finding a solicitor, and saving for legal fees. That means taking more shifts at the clinic, which has the additional benefit of keeping him occupied. He hopes the additional work will make the next four months go by faster.

***

It’s only one month before the silence in the flat gets to be too much to bear. The empty walls and tiny bedroom remind him of the bedsit he found himself in before Sherlock. The nightmares make a vicious return and he’s treated to nightly visits to Afghanistan, trapped beside Sherlock’s cold corpse, trying to force blood back into the bullet wound in his chest.

Which is why, by the time Sherlock stops by in March, he looks absolutely exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes look permanent. His old eating habits have returned, and as a result, he’s lost weight. He looks old and worn out and he hasn’t spoken to Sherlock in three weeks.

***

John hasn’t spoken to him in three weeks. Sherlock knows Mycroft is keeping an eye out so he is not especially concerned about John’s safety, but he does miss him. And it’s this fit of sentiment that leads Sherlock to John’s door. Well, that and Sherlock has some research he would like to share.

When John opens the door Sherlock is shocked. Over the last two months he has noticed John acting more subdued. Sherlock simply put it down to the test results and an increased workload. But this, this is more than a lost child and extra hours at work. This is nightmares and constant overwhelming stress. This is John Watson before Baker Street. It makes no sense. Sherlock feels horribly guilty for letting the damage get this far. Another wave of guilt crashes into him as he realizes this is probably what John looked like after Sherlock jumped. John looks at him with the faintest impression of a smile and it is horrible.

“Oh, hello. Come on in. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Sherlock follows him in and sits on the cheap sofa placed near the refrigerator, presumably to save space. He watches John pull down a couple of mugs. He wants to apologize, again, for what he’s put John through: for exposing his wife as an assassin, for subjecting him to Sherlock’s own nightmares after the shooting, for making him watch as Sherlock fell from the roof of Bart’s. But every one of the six languages he knows is failing him. His mouth opens to say something but he cannot think of what that should be.

“You look like shit.”

Apparently his mouth decides without any input from his brain. He snaps his mouth shut and seriously contemplates punching himself. That was a horrible thing to say. He may not have the best grasp of social norms but even he knows that was a bit not good. He glances at John, hoping to figure out a way to take that last bit back. To his surprise, John actually smiles. It’s barely a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but for Sherlock that’s enough.

“Yeah, I know. The staff at the clinic aren’t keeping their opinions about my health a secret. I’m just having some trouble sleeping.”

“This isn’t just problems sleeping John. How often do you have the nightmares? How often are you eating? Why haven’t you even so much as texted me in three weeks?”

Sherlock is angry. He’s furious. John is deliberately ignoring his health and downplaying his obvious exhaustion. This behaviour is acceptable in Sherlock but is downright atrocious in John. He glares at John, who is standing by the stove, head hanging, tea forgotten.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I should have called or something. I’ve just been so stressed about the divorce. Which is absurd because I haven’t even filed for it yet. I just- I want it over with Sherlock. And I can’t handle waiting.”

John walks over and sags into the sofa beside Sherlock. Up close Sherlock can see the new wrinkles forming and the tremor in John’s hand. Sherlock slumps as well, his anger draining. It’s then that he remembers why he came.

“Er- John. I actually came over with some information I think will be very useful to you.”

John has his head cradled in his hands. He gives a hopeless sigh.

“What information do you have that could possibly be helpful?”

“Well, I was doing some research on family law and I came across something interesting. Apparently, in the UK, if a woman were to be pregnant by another man at the time of her wedding, her husband could file for an annulment.”

John looks up at him. He is clearly confused.

“An annulment? What’s the big difference?”

Sherlock knows he’s not asking for the difference between an annulment and a divorce so he goes straight to the point.

“Firstly, you have a clearer cause for filing an annulment. And secondly, you can file for an annulment at any time. You wouldn’t have to wait any more.”

John blinks at him, processing what he just said.

“I wouldn’t have to wait? I could file, say, by next week?”

“Yes John, as long as you have all the paperwork and the fee, you could file it by next week. You could file tomorrow if you’d like but I imagine hiring a solicitor and obtaining an official copy of your marriage certificate could take time.” 

Sherlock watches as the light flicks on in John’s eyes. John is smiling, really smiling. John’s shoulders straighten and he already looks healthier. Sherlock smiles with him.


	13. A Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft arrives with bad news and a long-winded explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue. Oh the dialogue. This chapter is incredibly talky. And guess what, the next chapter's worse. But there's really no other way for Mycroft to explain his plan. I'm so sorry.

It’s incredible what a bit of good news can do for a person’s health. While he’s still fighting against many nights of poor sleep, John feels less exhausted. He finds himself looking forward to the next few weeks, to finally getting rid of the Mary-sized weight on his shoulders. When Sherlock leaves (after making him eat a sandwich) John immediately goes to make an appointment with the solicitor recommended to him by a nurse at the clinic (two divorces and one custody battle, which he’d won). He gets an appointment on Friday and spends the intermittent three days practically singing in relief.

His relief is multiplied when the solicitor assures him that with a legal paternity test and Mary’s agreement he should have no problem getting an annulment. Considering Mary’s actions, he doubts she’ll raise any objections. The meeting is brief. John collects the forms he needs and heads home to fill them out. 

***

Mycroft is just finishing with some paperwork when he receives an e-mail announcing John Watson has applied for an annulment. It would seem he needs to move forward sooner than expected. Pity, he could have used the remaining two months to ensure his success. As it is, the plan should still run smoothly. His phone beeps again, this time the news is much more concerning.

***

Sherlock is studying case notes with John when he hears the unwelcome tapping of an umbrella on the stairs.

“Go away Mycroft.”

Instead, his brother strides to John’s chair and sits. It’s then that Sherlock notices the slightly tightened grip Mycroft has on his umbrella. He’s come with news, and it isn’t good.

“Well, what is it? What’s gone wrong?”

Mycroft gaze moves to the umbrella, very bad news then.

“It would appear that Moran is once again on the move, in England specifically.”

Sherlock frowns. It really is bad news. Moran has been hiding out in that Serbian organization for over a year now. Something drastic must have happened for him to move now.

“Any idea what could have changed his mind about Serbia? He could have been safe there for at least another 5 months, given the overall intelligence of the agents you have working there.”

Mycroft grimaces, still looking at the umbrella.

“Actually I have a very good idea as to why he is moving.”

At this he turns to face John, who has spent the entire conversation in Sherlock’s peripheral vision looking confused.

“As you know John, when Sherlock faked his death Moriarty had three snipers positioned to kill yourself, Gregory Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson. During his time away Sherlock managed to eliminate the snipers contracted for the inspector and your landlady; however, he was interrupted before he could remove the last one. His name is Sebastian Moran, a colonel turned mercenary and Moriarty’s second-in-command.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the tediously long explanation.

“Yes, lovely speech but that in no way explains why he is back in England.”

It’s Mycroft’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I was getting to that. I believe that Moran is moving to finish the job, so to speak.”

At this John begins to frown, confusion turning into something akin to accusation.

“Wait… So you think this Moran is going to kill me.”

Mycroft gives him a single nod.

“But why now? Why not when Sherlock first announced he was alive?”

***

Mycroft knows he is visibly uncomfortable. He is unsure what reaction his explanation will elicit. He is never comfortable with being unsure.

“For the past four years I have been digging extensively into Moriarty’s web. I learned who the important players were and where they were likely to be found. More specifically, I found out that Moran was not Moriarty’s first right-hand man. Until the pool incident he had a different second-in-command, an ex-CIA agent known in the criminal world only by the initials A.G.R.A.”

John interrupts him, understandably upset.

“AGRA, but that’s-“

“The woman currently known as Mary Morstan. According to my investigation there was a falling out, in which she exposed a rather large child trafficking ring. From there AGRA disappears, only to resurface as Mary two months later.”

John looks rather exasperated, apparently incapable of being surprised about Mary’s past.

“And what does that have to do with Moran?”

“Mary, or AGRA, has a rather impressive resumé. So impressive that Moran was not eager to risk facing her in a fight. While she was your wife, that protection was extended to you. She is no longer your wife. Rather, soon she will no longer be your wife. Moran has clearly caught wind of the separation and believes you are now open for an attack.”

 


	14. Your Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft never understood Sherlock's capacity for sentiment, and now that lack of understanding has screwed everything up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, next week I'm going on a camping trip with no internet access. That means no new chapters next week. So sorry for the future delay. But all the extra time off means extra writing time. Maybe I'll manage to get in an extra chapter to make up for the missed two. As always, comments and kudos are all very much appreciated.

John mouth is open but Sherlock is the one who replies to Mycroft’s long-winded explanation.

“How long have you known?”

Mycroft knows exactly what he’s asking but, in his discomfort, decides to avoid the subject.

“That Moran is on the move? I found out last night.”

Sherlock moves to glare at him openly.

“You know that’s not what I meant. When did you discover Mary’s past? You’ve been looking into Moriarty for four years; I doubt you just found out.”

Mycroft can’t hide the grimace he makes. This is the explanation that makes him most uncomfortable.

“I discovered Mary and her history two years ago, shortly before retrieving you from Serbia.”

John looks ready to punch him. He probably would too but, with a lazy flick of his hand, Sherlock stops him.

“Why didn’t you do anything about her? Surely, with your connections, you knew people who wanted her. Why not snatch her and ship her back to the United States?”

Mycroft shifts his eyes from his brother to John. Sherlock may have stopped the first punch but Mycroft cannot know there won’t be a second attempt and he really would prefer to avoid injury. With his eyes flicking towards John he directs his explanation to Sherlock

“At that time she was in a relationship with John. In order to remove her without fuss I would have had to explain everything to him. He couldn’t know anything about your activities, for his own safety. I hoped, when I retrieved you, that you would break their relationship up. You seem to have a talent for it. Unfortunately I made a miscalculation. I did not account for your newfound sentimentality.”

Sherlock continues to glare at him but Mycroft does not miss the quick glance he shoots at John. Nor does he miss the new tension in Sherlock’s shoulders as he reads John’s reaction.

_Perhaps a bit more sentimental than I originally thought._

“Despite the setback in my plans, having Mary attached to John did give me more time to deal with Moran. As long as she remained inactive I would not have to worry about her. Then she shot you.”

Everyone winces at the memory, but he continues.

“Now that I knew she wasn’t inactive she became a problem again, but I could still use her against Magnussen. While many of my colleagues viewed Magnussen as an asset, albeit a dangerous one, I believed he would soon become a liability. It doesn’t do to have one man in possession of all those secrets, particularly one who cares more about money and power than people.”

Sherlock snorts, clearly finding that sentence ironic. It’s understandable, but Sherlock has never really understood why Mycroft chose his career.

“I was poised to orchestrate Magnussen’s assassination. Not only would he be eliminated, but I would then legally be able to arrest Mary for the murder in my own time. Thus buying me even more time to deal with Moran, who was deeply hidden in Serbia. However, once again my plans were derailed by your sentiment.”

Mycroft looks at Sherlock with the condescending glare he’s worked to perfect for years. He has to work to keep it in place when Sherlock actually looks apologetic, the shock almost ruining the chill in his gaze.

“No one knows Moran like we do Sherlock. Between the two of us we will have to find him. I cannot spare any more people for this.”

Finally Mycroft rises from the chair and turns to addresses John.

“I’ve already set up increased surveillance around the street. No one enters or leaves Baker Street without my knowledge. John, for your own safety I ask that you move back in with my brother. I can protect you better here.”

Mycroft walks out the door with a nod, before he is required to say anything more.

 


	15. I Was So Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Mycroft's explanation (confession really), both John and Sherlock blame themselves for the situation they are in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to my being absent next week, I am posting an extra chapter now. I should be back to regular posting in a week's time.

 “Why did you stop me punching him?”

Sherlock turns away from the door to look at John. He’s shaking with barely restrained anger. Best to get this over with and hope John doesn’t turn that anger on him.

“Firstly, if you had punched him his security detail would have had you on the ground with a gun pressed against your head before you could blink. Secondly, and you know I hate to say this, we’re going to need him if we are going to have any chance against Moran. He has access to surveillance and information I cannot hope to get, and we’re going to need all the information we can find. And lastly, he’s right. I should have known something was wrong with Mary, and I should have broken you up. If I had been thinking clearly when I returned, if I had really been paying attention, I would have picked something up.”

“What was there to pick up? It’s not like you can tell an ex-assassin from their haircut and perfume!”

Shouting, John is shouting. Which is better than the punch Sherlock was prepared for.

“Nothing about her appearance gave her away John, but there were plenty of warning signs that she wasn’t who she seemed.”

“Like what Sherlock? Please, explain it to me.”

“A normal nurse doesn’t recognize a skip code on sight. Most people don’t recognize a skip code on sight. That was sign number one but I was so focused on saving you from that bonfire I never gave it much thought.”

Sherlock risks a small smile when he mentions the fire, hoping John’s anger might soften with the reminder of his rescue. His hopes are dashed when John’s glare stays hard and cold. Sherlock wipes the smile off his face and carries on.

“And, of course, she said she had no family. That alone isn’t suspect. However, she also did not have friends that she’d known for more than a few years. Most people will invite friends from all stages of their lives to their wedding. She only listed friends she’d made since moving to London. Strange considering her bubbly, friendly, and outgoing personality. It’s something not uncommon with people who are trying to either hide themselves or start a completely new life. It only took a little bit of digging to discover the woman currently named Mary Morstan only appeared approximately five years ago.”

John sneers and turns to the kitchen mumbling something about “obvious” and “should have known”. It’s when he mumbles the words “naïve” and “my fault” that Sherlock realizes John isn’t blaming him, he’s blaming himself.

“John it’s not your fault. If I couldn’t see it how could you have possibly done so. She fooled us all John.”

John turns back to him abruptly.

“But it’s always my fault isn’t it Sherlock? I’m attracted to dangerous people so obviously she had to be something. That’s what you said isn’t it? After all, how could someone who’s best friends with a sociopath possibly fall in love with a normal girl?”

Sherlock sighs, weighed down with guilt, because he had said that. He’d told John that he was attracted to dangerous people, but he never meant it like this.

“John,” Sherlock pleads, “It really isn’t your fault. You cannot deny you are attracted to danger, but that’s not what attracted you to Mary. You didn’t fall in love with AGRA the assassin. You fell in love with Mary, a sweet, normal woman. You cannot blame yourself for her mistakes, or mine.”

The pleading seems to work. John’s shoulders slump and he sighs in resignation.

“Yeah… yeah.”

John walks past Sherlock and eases into his chair. The beginnings of a smirk linger on his features.

“How did the genius consulting detective miss all that anyway? Seems pretty obvious, you know, in hindsight.”

Sherlock smirks in return, happy to move on from the hard emotions in their time-honoured manner of poor humour (it worked for them back in the tunnel with that bomb and it will work for them now).

“To be fair I was a little distracted planning your wedding. It’s a lot of work, which you would know if I hadn’t planned it for you.”

John is definitely smiling now, happy to continue their banter.

“I was exhausted watching you. Pity all your excellent planning went to waste. Could start up your own business though, if the whole detective thing stops working out.”

“Not much danger in wedding planning John. I could never keep you around.”

“And that’s a major consideration? Keeping me around? Doesn’t seem very sociopathic of you.”

He says it lightly, but Sherlock knows it’s something that bothers him. From the very beginning of their relationship John has worried about Sherlock getting bored of him, and Sherlock has tried to alleviate that worry as best he can. Of course Sherlock will be the first to admit he isn’t particularly skilled in that area, so John’s worry persists. Even now, after everything they’ve been through.

“Of course I have to keep you around. If two years away taught me anything, it’s that I work better with you. They were long years John. Lonely years.”

Sherlock watches John’s smile fade to sadness. During his recovery from the bullet wound in his chest Sherlock had told John about his time away. He did gloss over the details of exactly what tortures he had endured but John read them from the scars littering Sherlock’s body while changing the dressing on his wound. He’d also glossed over how much he’d missed John. He said the words but never explained how he’d conversed with John in his head, trying to withstand the exhaustion. How, from the moment he watched John at his grave, his chest had ached with the pain of how much he’d missed John. The depth of his regard for his friend and flatmate were never clearer to him than during that seemingly endless period. But he couldn’t let John know that, not then. Now he lets a bit of that loneliness seep into his voice. The emotional tension in the room quickly becomes uncomfortable.

“Besides, the sociopath thing isn’t an official diagnosis.”

John quirks his eyebrow, obviously finding relief in the offer of a lighter topic.

“Oh really. Never would have guessed that.”

Sherlock grins at his renewed sarcasm.

“Yes, well I always found the label was sufficient to scare away the rabble.”

“Pity it didn’t work on me.”

“Actually John, I’m rather glad it didn’t.”

 


	16. We Lost Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John moves back to Baker Street and Mycroft comes bearing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from camping. Only seven mosquito bites! Sorry this is a day late but this chapter refused to be written. Hope you enjoy!

John moves back into Baker Street the next day, the threat of death overcoming his lingering concerns. With the burden of an impending divorce significantly lighter on his shoulders John is confident he will be able to hide his growing (re-emerging rather) feelings for his best friend. Actually, thanks to recent interrupted conversations (damn Mycroft and his umbrella), John tentatively hopes those feelings may not need hiding much longer. But it’s best not to get ahead of himself. First they must deal with not only the Moriarty video but Moran as well.

It’s the work of half an hour to put all his belongings in their place. He only has his clothes and a few books and DVDs from the flat he shared with Mary. Most of the stuff in that place was hers to begin with, as was the flat itself. John is happy about that, makes splitting assets easy enough. They hadn’t even gotten around to opening a joint bank account. As long as Mary agrees to the annulment the break should be clean, especially now that there will be no custody battle.

John makes his way into the kitchen intent on a cuppa, feeling more calm and content than he’s been since before Sherlock’s “death”. He probably should feel guilty about that, given that he was married. He really doesn’t though.

***

Two days later, John watches Sherlock pace around the sitting room. There has been no new information regarding either the video or Moran and Sherlock’s frustration is palpable. The frustration peaks when Mycroft walks into the flat. Sherlock snarls.

“What are you doing here?”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

“I have more information regarding Moran.”

“Well, spit it out!”

Mycroft looks over at John.

“Perhaps we might discuss this over tea?”

***

John and Mycroft sit with their tea while Sherlock continues pacing.

“So? What is this information?”

Mycroft sets his mug on the table and sits back.

“My sources tracked him to Colchester but lost him. He was last spotted making his way to London Stansted Airport.”

Sherlock pauses his pacing.

“I doubt he’s going to try flying, much too easy to get caught. Stansted has busses and trains going to London. It’s likely he will be on one of those. After all London is where his target is. But I know you already know that, making your visit effectively pointless.”

“I’m simply keeping you informed of his whereabouts. Wouldn’t want the two of you letting your guard down.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes hard enough John briefly wonders if he might hurt himself.

“Don’t act like you care about keeping us informed brother.”

John silently agrees with Sherlock. After all, Mycroft has kept a lot of rather important information from them in the past. Mycroft heaves a sigh.

“I’m trying a new tactic.”

“Wonderful. Since you’re trying out this new tactic and all your previous information is useless to me perhaps you know more about the Moriarty video. After all, you’re the one with all the connections.”

Sherlock’s reply oozes with sarcasm. Mycroft seems to contemplate his next words for a moment while gazing at his ever-present umbrella.

“Yes, the video. I’m the one who released it.”


	17. I Need a Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft explains himself (again) and Sherlock is left without anything to investigate.

“Wait a minute! You released that video? Why?”

Sherlock watches John glare at his brother with a mixture of shock and accusation. However, for Sherlock the pieces are falling into place now his suspicions are confirmed. He answers before Mycroft, to rob him of the satisfaction.

“He already had the video on hand. He was waiting for an opportune moment to use it, hoping to coax Moran out of hiding. My killing Magnussen forced his hand – sentiment. His connections in the telecommunications industry made distribution easy. I’ve had my suspicions ever since my well-timed rescue. The real question is why he had me investigate at all.”

Mycroft returns his stare, shifting in his seat.

“My colleagues needed to see you were investigating the case. After all, it was the only thing keeping you from being shipped back to Serbia. That is no longer a concern; they have since realized the great service you did when you shot Magnussen. It seems that the investigation uncovered a connection to the terrorist organization that was involved with the attempted bombing of parliament.”

Sherlock is entirely unimpressed.

“My attention would have been better used elsewhere. You could have confirmed my suspicions and I could have focused on real cases while maintaining appearances. You’ve wasted my time.”

“I kept you distracted. My plans have already required modification twice because I failed to predict your actions. I was not going to let that happen again. I no longer need you distracted.”

Sherlock cannot say for certain that he wouldn’t have gotten in the way of his brother’s plans so elects to drop the matter.

“You’ve said your piece, now leave. It appears I must create a list of hideouts Moran might use.”

***

Sherlock does come up with a list of possible hideouts, but Moran is not found at any of them. If Mycroft is to be believed, no one matching Moran’s description has been spotted in London at all. This, according to Sherlock, can mean one of two things. Either Moran is deep underground in London, plotting and waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Or he isn’t in London at all; a theory made more likely when Sherlock learns Moran was never spotted at the airport. There’s nothing for him to work with for the time being.

***

John comes home to see Sherlock heaving sigh after sigh at the back of the sofa, where he lays curled in a petulant ball of boredom. He’d hoped, when he came home from applying for the decree nisi (Mary responded to the annulment yesterday afternoon) that Sherlock would have a case.

“Well, six more weeks and I can apply for the decree absolute. It’s in the court’s hands now.”

Sherlock grunts in response. John really should know better than to try distracting Sherlock with small talk.  

“Do you want to go out for dinner later or do you want takeaway?”

Another wordless grunt.

“D’you want Chinese or Indian?”

Again, the reply is a grunt.

“Indian it is.”

John goes to turn on the kettle, hoping he’ll be able to coax Sherlock into eating something tonight. He returns to his chair after making himself some tea.

“I need a case John.”

John glances up from the table he’s been staring at.

“Hmm?”

“A case! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a REAL case? Months! I can actually feel my brain stagnating!”

“You’ve been occupied Sherlock. Have you checked with Lestrade lately? Perhaps he has something.”

“I called him yesterday. Apparently it’s still too cold out for the criminal element.”

Most people would be alarmed by the bitterness in Sherlock’s voice as he talks about the drop in serious crime. John’s just grateful that he has Sherlock talking.

“Well spring has just begun. Maybe Lestrade has some interesting cold cases you could look into.”

Sherlock rolls towards him.

“I’ve already been through all the Yard’s interesting cold cases. Most of them don’t even have proper photographs.”

John is about to reply when Sherlock’s phone vibrates. Sherlock practically jumps off the sofa to grab it.

“Lestrade.”

John silently says goodbye to his dinner.


	18. He'll Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John meet Lestrade at the crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers. School starts up tomorrow so my update schedule may become a bit erratic as I adjust.

They meet Greg at the crime scene. John sees the bodies of five young women. He has never been squeamish about death and this crime scene isn’t even messy, but at the moment he is glad he didn’t get a chance to eat before Sherlock rushed them out the door. One of the women doesn’t look much older than fifteen. He walks over to Greg.

“Hey John, nice to see you and Sherlock answering my calls again. How’s he doing?”

“Sherlock’s doing fine. He recovered quite nicely. Been busy investigating that video for Mycroft.”

“Mmm. Got that solved yet?”

John has to think for a moment. He can’t really tell Greg the truth but he hasn’t had time to come up with a decent lie. Luckily Sherlock takes the moment to make his presence known.

“It was some fanatics trying to scare the populace. Similar to the type of people who write love letters to imprisoned murderers. Now, what exactly did you call me for?”

John usually feels a bit uncomfortable with Sherlock’s ease when lying. Right now he’s nothing but grateful. Greg looks satisfied with his answer and moves on to the crime at hand.

“The bodies of five young women were found an hour ago by a homeless woman, apparent cause of death: asphyxiation. They all appear to be under the age of 25.”

Sherlock surveys the scene before going to crouch by the body closest to them. John and Greg watch him for a minute or two before Greg speaks.

“So how are you doing? Heard you split with Mary.”

John knows he should have expected this. It might be good to talk to Greg about it, insomuch as he can. After all, Greg actually understands what it’s like.

“I’m fine. Feels good actually.”

“Mm, yeah. Still hurts though. But that gets better after a while.”

John grunts in agreement. They go back to watching Sherlock for a minute. He’s moved on to the next body.

“Guess you still have a couple months before the divorce huh?”

“Actually, I’ve filed for an annulment.”

“An annulment?”

John can feel Greg’s eyes on him. He tries to keep his voice casual.

“Yeah, Sherlock suggested it when I found out the kid wasn’t mine.”

Greg sucks in a sharp breath. John automatically turns to make sure he’s all right.

“Not yours? I- I’m sorry I…”

John watches Greg’s flustered attempt to find a response. But really, how is someone supposed to respond when you tell them something like this? John takes pity on him and continues the conversation, trying to keep his tone light.

“Yeah, bit of a shock, finding that out. Good thing we were already separated at that point. Would’ve been really bad if I’d found that out in the maternity ward.”

“You were already separated? Thought you would’ve stuck around at least until after the birth.”

“Hmm, we’d been having problems for a long time. I couldn’t take it anymore. I finally understand why some people consider murder before divorce.”

“John! Should you really be saying that to a detective?”

John chuckles and Greg raises his eyebrows then chuckles with him.

“It was only a few seconds of weakness Greg, nothing to worry about. Did push me out the door though. Thought maybe I could rebuild my life a bit, enough to convince a judge I could raise my child. Doesn’t matter now.”

Greg looks like he’s about to say something when Sherlock calls John (and by extension Greg) to the last body.


	19. Apitoxin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally has a new case but it's John that notice's the interesting information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit late again. I spent hours researching toxins.

Sherlock’s attention is torn between studying the body in front of him and trying to hear what John and Lestrade are saying. He’s too far away to hear anything, but he can make an educated guess as to the subject of the conversation. Lestrade knows about the separation and will want to offer his sympathies. Sherlock returns his attention to the body (approximately fifteen years old, habitual drug user, small tattoo on wrist… _oh_ ). He quickly checks the rest. They all have the same tattoo. It’s one he recognizes.

“John!”

Sherlock watches both John and Lestrade approach. Both are tense but that’s easily attributed to their probable topic of conversation. The look of pity in Lestrade’s eyes whenever he glances at John make it clear John told him about the paternity test.  Sherlock looks back at John, trying to gauge his mood. He’s tense but not angry. Sherlock takes it as a good sign and returns his focus to the case at hand.

“What do you have for me Sherlock?”

Sherlock barely registers that the question comes from Lestrade. He continues to address John.

“Can you confirm cause of death?”

John kneels by the body, snapping on a pair of gloves, and Sherlock does his best to focus on his actions, rather than the way John’s jeans stretch tight across his thighs. It’s been a while since he’s had to maintain his focus like this, and he’s a bit out of practice. Soon enough John’s ready to give him his assessment, and Sherlock pulls his attention back to the body.

“All signs point to asphyxiation by manual strangulation. Although…”

Sherlock watches him pause and quickly study the corpse’s hands and arms.

“No signs of restraint or struggle. You’ll definitely want to run some blood tests to check for sedatives.”

Sherlock smirks and is about to launch into his own deductions when John continues.

“Wait a minute.”

Sherlock watches John inch up the victim’s sleeve, revealing an injection site, red and swollen. To Sherlock it looks a bit like…

“A bee sting?”

Sherlock’s eyes flick up to John’s face. John is looking at the body just behind Sherlock. He watches as John goes to check the arms of all five bodies.

“They all have what appears to be bee stings.”

Sherlock finally chimes in, secretly pleased that John noticed something he’d missed.

“They’re too consistently placed to be an accident or a coincidence. It’s also too cold out yet for most bees to be active. Someone injected them. We’re possibly looking at a case of murder by apitoxin. Brilliant!”

John looks ready to comment on how calling a quintuple homicide brilliant is “a bit not good” but Sherlock’s too excited to pay him any attention. This killer’s clever, very clever. Apitoxin is very easy to purchase and is rarely given much consideration during autopsy. If it weren’t for the bruises on each victim’s necks (and that they were carefully laid out side by side) their murders might have gone unnoticed.

“Five prostitutes, injected with apitoxin, strangled, and posed in an alley. But the scene is clean. I doubt your forensics team will find anything worthwhile. Perhaps there will be something in autopsy. Text me when that’s done. Come along John.”

Sherlock walks out to the street to hail a cab. He directs them to Baker Street and settles into his seat, giving every impression that he’s thinking.

“So what do you really know?”

John obviously suspects he’s holding something back but Sherlock would prefer to discuss his own suspicions in private.

“At home John.”


	20. You Can't Possibly Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains his theory and John points out the obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize in advance for the solid block of text in this chapter. I tend to prefer shorter paragraphs but sometimes Sherlock won't shut up.

Sherlock barely pauses to open the door when they arrive. John follows him up the stairs at a much more reasonable pace. He immediately heads to the kitchen.

“So what is it? What did you see?”

John pulls down two mugs while Sherlock paces in the sitting room. He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply.

“Those women all had the same tattoo. I knew I recognized it from somewhere but couldn’t quite recall where. Then you noticed the injection marks. The use of apitoxin was what I needed to make the connection.”

Sherlock pauses for breath and John takes the opportunity to take the tea into the sitting room and sit down.

“Sherlock, you can’t possibly know apitoxin caused those marks. It could have been wasps, or hornets, or another type of bee. Even horse fly bites look similar.”

Sherlock twirls to face him, eyes lit up with his usual case-induced fervor.

“I’m sure the toxicology report will confirm my findings. It’s all about the tattoos John. Recall when Mycroft explained Mary’s departure from Moriarty’s inner circle?”

John frowns. He doesn’t like to dwell on his ex’s murderous past, even when it appears to be relevant. But Sherlock is looking at him expectantly.

“He said she left after the incident at the pool.”

Sherlock is quick to explain even further, whirling around the room.

“He also said she took down a human trafficking ring in the process. After he left I asked for all the files he had on AGRA. Most of the higher ups were cleanly executed, but the head of the operation died of anaphylactic shock caused by a honey bee sting before she could get to him. He marked all his ‘goods’ so to speak. A small tattoo of eight diagonal lines. The same tattoo on each of the victims. The tattoos could have been incidental. Many of those women were sold to various pimps. If the only connection were the tattoos, there would be several possible motives. Revenge against a pimp, sending a message about cleaning up the streets, murderous client. But this killer has gone to some length to connect these women directly to the original trafficking ring with those welts. The real question is why he would want us to make that connection. Very few people know or suspect that the leader wasn’t killed by accident. It would have been very difficult for her to get away with an execution. One does not simply assassinate the CEO of a major corporation and disappear. The sting was proven to be an injection shortly after the case was officially closed, information known only to a select few members of the CIA, and my brother.”

Sherlock drops into his chair and picks up the mug John left on the table. John is momentarily distracted by the way Sherlock's fingers caress the handle (happens every time he sees Sherlock grab something and he really should work on his self control), but quickly pulls his focus back to what Sherlock is saying.

“But who else would know? Who would want to draw attention to it? I doubt this is the work of the CIA. Unless…”

Sherlock trails off, folding his hands under his chin in his usual ‘thinking’ pose, presumably ready to spend the next few hours lost in thought working out this puzzle. But John, master of the obvious, believes he knows exactly who’s behind this.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock grunts in response (either an acknowledgement or a dismissal, John can’t quite tell).

“Sherlock, would Moran know?”        


	21. We Can Only Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John conducts Sherlock's genius, but genius can only go so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a little late. I'll be back to a settled schedule soon.

Sherlock practically leaps from his chair. He rushes to his phone, sitting on the kitchen table.

“Brilliant John! You are absolutely brilliant!”

John raises his eyebrows and turns to look at Sherlock.

“Brilliant? Can I get that in writing? Thought I was an idiot.”

“An idiot? What fool told you that?”

Sherlock says it with a smirk, striding back to his chair. He sends whatever text he’s typed and sits back down.

“Why exactly am I brilliant this time? And who’d you text?”

“Mycroft. He’ll be arriving soon.”

John is tempted to check Sherlock for fever. Giving him compliments and voluntarily contacting Mycroft? Obviously Sherlock is ill.

“Why is Mycroft coming over? You hate him being in the flat.”

“Unavoidable this time John. Much easier to discuss Moran’s possible locations and berate his tracking skills in person.”

John chuckles. That sounds more like the Sherlock he knows.

“True enough. Now, back to my moment of brilliance.”

Sherlock sighs. Seems he was hoping John’s brilliance would extend into knowing the reasons for its existence.

“Easier if I explain once my brother arrives. You know how I hate repetition.”

It only takes another ten minutes before they hear the distinct tap of an umbrella on the stairs. Mycroft enters the flat with his usual disregard for social niceties, such as knocking (not that either John or Sherlock care).

“Hello, brother mine. To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?”

John snorts, the only response he normally gives Mycroft’s attempts at intimidation. Sherlock simply plunges into an explanation of the case. John tunes him out for most of it, the details still fresh in his mind. He goes to make tea instead of listening, returning just in time to hear Sherlock explaining John’s moment of brilliance

“…while I will need to confirm the whereabouts of the CIA agents involved in the original case, it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever for any of them to draw attention back to that case. None of them would have any motive to kill those women. So, if not the CIA, then who else would know those details? There’s AGRA herself of course, but she’s not stupid enough to draw attention to it either. So who would she have spoken to about this assassination? The only person she would want to know would be Moriarty himself. After all, what better way to declare your intentions to leave his employment than by killing one of his major sources of income? Moriarty would not have let that go, so he set Moran on her tail, but she disappeared. By then something more important came up. Me.”

***

Sherlock takes a few deep breaths after he’s done explaining his theory. He watches his brother for a reaction. What he gets is a raised brow.

“That’s all well and good Sherlock, but why would Moran draw attention to himself like this? Surely there are easier ways of luring you and Doctor Watson to a location of his choosing without risking drawing the attention of AGRA.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to look questioningly at his brother.

“Are you actually asking me Mycroft? Because, for once those questions don’t sound at all condescending.”

Mycroft’s lips tighten ever so slightly. His focus turns to the handle of his umbrella.

“In this case, you have a better understanding of the man in question. It would be ill-advised to ignore your expertise.”

Sherlock snorts at Mycroft’s unwilling admission but knows that is as much as he’s going to get.

“I think he’s trying to draw her attention. As long as he’s fulfilling contracts from a man long dead, why not include her? The homicides serving both to lure her in and let me know he’s close. Your people didn’t catch any glimpse of him?”

Mycroft shakes his head, grimacing. He’s obviously not pleased with his lack of progress. Both he and Sherlock lose themselves in thought, trying to figure out what it would take to completely avoid CCTV detection. John is the one to break the silence.

“So what do we do next?”

Sherlock looks at him and huffs his discontent.

“The only thing to do right now is wait for him to make the next move.”


	22. The Waiting's the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend their free time studying Mycroft's files.

It only takes three days of waiting before Sherlock is shoot-the-walls bored. Three days of waiting for the autopsy results, although Sherlock knows he’s right. He’s so bored he doesn’t even bother with insults when he requests the files on both Moran and AGRA from Mycroft.

Eventually the results from the autopsy and blood tests do come back, confirming Sherlock’s theory. With this, Mycroft has sufficient reason to take the case out of Lestrade’s hands (not that he needed a reason but it is nice to have one). This leaves them free to dig more into the backgrounds of both Moran and AGRA.

Moran’s military history is surprisingly clean. At least it surprises John. Sherlock seems unsurprised by it.

“Clearly he values his superior skills and discipline. His pride wouldn’t allow him anything but perfection in his job. His superiors wouldn’t have cared that he liked killing too much, as long as he was killing the right people. It appears the circumstances of his discharge were much like those of your friend Sholto, only instead of becoming a hermit due to overwhelming guilt…”

John finishes that sentence for him.

“…he became a mercenary sniper and killed innocent people at the command of another psychopath.”

Sherlock hums his agreement. He goes to pick up the file on AGRA that Anthea dropped off the night before.

“AGRA, real name Allison Guinevere Ramona Ackers. Spent five years in the CIA before going rogue. She appears to have killed CEOs, politicians, crime bosses, and seemingly innocent civilians, clearly a woman with no qualms when it comes to murder. There’s even a few children on this list. Never caught. Many police forces have tried but there is never enough evidence for an arrest. Disappeared approximately four years ago, during which she changed her identity and made a new life for herself. Then, just under a year ago she became active again due to blackmail from one Charles Augustus Magnussen. And that brings us up to date. No new information there, aside from her name.”

Sherlock glances at John who looks mildly disgusted.

“Well if I wasn’t leaving her before…”

That’s all they say on the subject. Sherlock takes to studying the file after John is in bed, to spare him the details.

Unfortunately, the AGRA file has only enough information to keep him occupied for a couple of days. All too soon he’s back, trapped in crippling boredom. Lucky for him (and John, who seems to have reached all new levels of frustration) Lestrade comes intermittently with a few new cases. Nothing more than a six but Sherlock is willing to solve anything at this point.

They keep him occupied for three weeks. Three weeks without any news from Mycroft. Three weeks without any more murders that can be traced back to Moran. Sherlock is slowly becoming convinced that there is something he missed at that crime scene that would lead them directly to Moran. It eats at the back of his mind.

Then Mycroft shows up at their door.  


	23. Our Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wait is over.

It’s approaching noon and John is ready to shoot the walls himself if Sherlock doesn’t stop moaning about the lack of cases. If John is being entirely honest, Sherlock’s not the only one a bit wound up over the lack of news from Mycroft’s end. John’s always been more of an action man himself. He goes to the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat.

“Have you found him?”

John turns towards Sherlock’s voice to see Mycroft at their door. His usual mask of condescending indifference is tainted with annoyance.

“One of my techs caught him on camera in Ipswich.”

“They’re sure it was him?”

Sherlock sounds hopeful, wanting his three weeks of boredom to end.

“He was staring directly at the camera. He didn’t even try to hide himself.”

Sherlock frowns, thinking hard.

“A taunt. And likely an attempt to lure us in. But where? One of Moriarty’s connection had a few boltholes there but they were all abandoned and sold after I was through with them.”

“Indeed.”

John abandons the idea of lunch and instead makes tea. The silence in the sitting room is absolute. John fancies he can hear the two men thinking. He brings them both tea and sits on the sofa, as Mycroft has taken position in his chair. Sherlock breaks the silence first.

“As I sincerely doubt Moran has purchased any property in the area we’ll be looking for somewhere abandoned. The problem is that there are plenty of abandoned houses and warehouses in Ipswich.”

Mycroft’s speech is clipped when he responds.

“That’s still too many options. Can you narrow it down?”

“Unfortunately, no. Moran has never shown any preference for locations. If he wants us to find him, he will have left clues.”

John is just as frustrated as Sherlock sounds. It comes out as sarcasm.

“But all we have is five crucified prostitutes.”

Mycroft grimaces at him.

“’Crucifed’. I see all that writing has given you a taste to the poetic.”

Sherlock flies out of his chair.

“Yes. YES! Crucified! All the women were posed as if crucified! Mycroft, your sources will be faster, I need to know all of the abandoned properties on London Road.”

John is confused, but that’s just the usual. What’s strange is the brief look of confusion on Mycroft’s face before he manages to mask it. His confusion still manages to bleed into his question.

“Why London Road?”

Sherlock smirks in triumph (either because of the case or because he’s confused his brother; John thinks it’s both).

“Do you recall the Suffolk Strangler?”

Understanding dawns on Mycroft’s face but John is still left confused.

“I’ll have my people look it up. I’ll also gather a team. I won’t have you going in alone Sherlock.”

Sherlock nods and Mycroft looks lost for a moment. Clearly he thought he would have to fight a while before his brother agreed to accept his help. He quickly recovers himself and leaves. John takes advantage of his absence to ask Sherlock for more information.

“Who’s the Suffolk Strangler?”

“Hmm? Oh, you must have been deployed at the time. In 2006 the bodies of five prostitutes were found in areas around Ipswich. Asphyxiation was the confirmed cause of death for two of the women, the others remained undetermined. Two of the bodies were posed in the position of a cruciform. The man convicted of their murders lived on London Road.”

“So the five prostitutes strangled and posed?”

 Sherlock turns to look at him, a manic gleam in his eye.

“Our clue."


	24. Hello Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock close in on Moran.

The next day Mycroft is once again in John’s chair, confirming Sherlock’s theory.

“Abandoned house in the middle of London Road. Cameras confirm Moran entering the building. My people are ready whenever you are.”

Sherlock nods, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“We’ll do it today. Have your people set up no closer than three blocks away. He thinks we’ll come alone and we don’t want to spook him. John and I will take the train. I expect he’ll have some kind of surveillance to confirm we’re on our way. We’ll signal you when we have him.”

John pipes in with the one variable for which the two geniuses don’t seem to be accounting.

“What about Mary? You said he was targeting her as well.”

Mycroft answers him.

“We have been tracking her but she disappeared three days ago. I believe that, in light of Moran’s activities she’s elected to move on and regroup. The child was left in the care of its father.”

“And if she’s decided to go after him on her own? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sherlock answers him this time, regret clear in his voice.

“It is a possibility. Not likely but possible. As I have proven in the past, I’m not able to predict her actions, nor is Mycroft, as much as he wishes he could. There are enough people in Mycroft’s team to cover her if needed. We can handle her as well if necessary.”

“Accepting help and admitting your mistakes? It’s a spring miracle.”

No one could miss the acid in Mycroft’s voice, obviously in response to Sherlock’s jab. Sherlock does not rise to the bait. Instead, he looks at John when he replies, sending a shiver down John’s spine.

“People change. It’s not always a bad thing. As the saying goes: Pride cometh before the fall. Sometimes quite literally.”

John smiles at him and snorts.

“How’d that one survive deletion?”

Sherlock just smiles.

***

John cannot settle on the train. The ride of just over an hour stretches on and on. He hasn’t felt this restless since waiting for that paternity test. Finally, they get off and make their way to the address Mycroft gave them. It’s a nice street. None of the houses look abandoned, not even the one they enter, John with his gun drawn. A quick look around the main floor shows nothing. John nods toward the stairs. Sherlock looks and whispers in his ear.

“One door, partially opened. No one on the landing. Some scuffling. At least one person.”

They both glide up the stairs, towards the door. Sherlock can now see Moran’s partial silhouette on the ground. He’s pointing a gun towards a figure to the left of the door. It’s a figure both John and Sherlock recognize. Partly obscured in shadow, Mary greets them.

“Hello boys. So nice to see you all again.”

***

Mary doesn’t look away from Moran as they enter the room. Instead she simply points one of the guns she holds at Sherlock.

“Drop the gun John.”

John doesn’t hesitate. He places the gun on the floor and kicks it to the side. Mary smiles but keeps the gun pointed at Sherlock.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen. I will kill you…”

At this she makes a tiny gesture with the gun pointed at Moran.

“…then you two. And then I will leave.”

“What are you doing here Ms. Ackers?”

John knows Sherlock is stalling for time but it would be nice if he could keep the curiosity out of his voice. Mary doesn’t seem fazed by the use of her real name

“Moran called me out here. I decided to oblige him.”

“He called you out here? How did he manage that?”

John really does hate it when Sherlock tries to coax information from people holding guns. Particularly when it’s information Sherlock already knows. But this time John recognizes the purpose. She needs to be distracted from him, so he can push the alert button.

“Those prostitutes. He killed my property.”

“Your property? Those women were part of the trafficking ring _you_ ended… oh! OH! That’s brilliant! ‘Destroy’ the trafficking ring you secretly control so you can separate it from Moriarty’s web! But five prostitutes are hardly worth the risk.”

Mary smirks at Sherlock, keeping her eyes fixed on Moran. This is John’s opportunity to alert Mycroft’s people. Hopefully Sherlock can keep both Mary and Moran distracted for two more minutes.

“They were the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. John is not the only contract he’s taken. I decided to find him before he found me.”

“Prudent.”

Moran snorts, clearly finding something about the conversation funny. It earns Mary’s focus.

“Something funny?”

Moran looks like he’s ready to burst out laughing if not for the gun pointed at his face.

“You make it sound like I had no idea you were looking. I lured you out! Both of you! You think those girls were picked at random? You think the apitoxin was just a clever attention grabber? I wanted you here!”

Both John and Sherlock watch the exchange. A quick glance lets John know Sherlock is just as shocked at the outburst as him. Mary seems confused and it makes her snappish.

“Didn’t plan that very well did you?”

Moran looks even closer to bursting into laughter.

“I’m a dead man either way! It’d either be you or that bloody government official. Least this way you take Watson and Holmes out for me. I’m perfectly fine letting Holmes senior take care of you.”

As if on cue Mycroft’s team burst into the room, destroying the door they’d shut behind them and shattering the windows. Mary looks at the guns surrounding her. Moran swings his gun away from her and towards John, determination lining his face.

John is grabbed and spun to the side as the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot rings through the air. It’s followed by a ripping sound and a grunt as Sherlock is hit and stumbles into John’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little bit of a spoiler but I will always ALWAYS warn for character death. I would not do that to my readers. Just an FYI before you all storm off in a huff.


	25. Letting the Heart Rule the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has once again put himself in a risky and deadly situation to save John Watson. John's response is both unexpected and gratifying (and a bit terrifying if Sherlock's entirely honest with himself).

Sherlock sees the shot happening before it does. He has just enough time to pull John out of the way. Unfortunately, it means risking putting himself in the line of fire, but John’s worth it. He’s always been worth it. Sherlock clings to that thought as he hears the gun go off and feels the bullet skim across his shoulders. The force of it pushes him into John’s arms with a grunt.

“SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock recovers himself. A quick assessment of the feeling in his shoulders indicates the bullet missed him, if only by millimeters. He fears his coat may have taken the brunt of the damage. But he has bigger concerns, mainly the panicking army doctor clinging to his arms.

“I’m fine John. I don’t even think it grazed me. Might not be able to say the same for my coat…”

John spins him around so swiftly it’s almost disorienting. He feels warm hands following the line of his shoulders, checking for injury. His relief is palpable.

“Nothing. It just grazed the coat. Oh thank g-“

Sherlock turns around just in time to watch John turn to Moran.

“You are lucky. You are so fucking lucky that he’s okay. If you had hit him…”

John’s voice is brutally low in his fury, quiet almost to the point of a whisper. Sherlock has never seen John this angry. It’s both terrifying and incredible. Sherlock has to strain to hear John’s next words over his own pulse.

“…I would have killed you in the most painful and protracted way I can imagine. They would have found your body in pieces.”

Sherlock’s always known John would kill for him. He’s done so already. But this, this is not a quick impersonal shot to save Sherlock’s life. This is incredibly personal, every dark and dangerous thought John holds unleashed in a single threat. And all for him. If Sherlock had any doubts about John’s feelings before (and he did) they are gone now. Definitely worth the ruined coat. Sherlock works on quieting his thrumming pulse. He and John still need to talk to whoever’s in charge here before they can leave.

***

It takes longer than John would have liked before he can get himself and Sherlock onto a train back to London. Sherlock falls asleep almost immediately. This gives John over an hour to contemplate what’s going to happen when they get home.

He knows they need to talk. If Sherlock had any doubts about how he felt before, that outburst would have cleared them up. John’s nervous about it, of course he is, but he suspects those feelings are returned. As much as he hates talking about feelings, at least he’s got that thread of hope to hang on to. And another forty-five minutes to figure out what to say.

***

Sherlock silently leads them up the steps to 221B. With each step his nervousness increases exponentially. He tried to calm himself while feigning sleep on the train. He knows they’re going to talk. They have to now, and John has that determined look in his eye. He hangs up his coat and scarf in silence before moving into the kitchen, craving the comfort of tea.

When he returns to the sitting room with two mugs in his hands John is already seated in his chair. He hums his thanks for the tea.

“Sherlock, I think- I think we need to talk.”

Sherlock bites his lip and nods. He tries hard to remain as calm as possible but he cannot supress either the hope or the dread. He’s been wrong before and if he’s wrong now it might kill him. John continues, haltingly.

“Look I- I know when we first met you said you weren’t- weren’t interested but you really must know by now that I am. I understand if you don’t feel the same and I will try to- I’m not going to push anything on you. We can go back to how we used to be but…”

Sherlock is a bit stunned thanks to a bit of rather persistent, logic-proof doubt (now thankfully removed). He blinks at John, watching his face go from tentative hope to uncertainty. Sherlock desperately wants to get rid of that uncertainty, but he doesn’t know what to say. He needs to say something.

“What happened to ‘Not gay’?”

John is taken aback. It’s definitely not the response he was looking for but hopefully (hope again, Sherlock needs to stop relying on hope) he recognizes that Sherlock is bad at articulating emotions.

“Technically true. I’m bisexual. Have identified as such since I was fifteen. I’m just not exactly out. Harry knows of course, but after how our parents reacted to her… Well, neither of us was up for a repeat of that. As for the questions I know you want to ask: no I’ve never had a boyfriend just one night stands, yes it’s because I’m closeted, and no I’m not asking for something like that with you.”

John doesn’t sound put off. He is genuinely unoffended at Sherlock’s question. Sherlock silently thanks his lucky stars that this man, his John, understands his limitations.

“Erm… Sherlock? Much as I don’t mind the completely understandable questions, for my own peace of mind could you maybe answer mine?”

“Technically you didn’t ask anything.”

Sherlock curses his monumental stupidity. What a horrible time for logic!  He glances at John, ready for annoyance and frustration. What he finds instead is a soft smile.

“Guess I didn’t. Sherlock, I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you. Are you interested?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Told you there would be no character death (aside from pre-killed prostitutes used as plot devices). There should only be maybe one or two more chapters in this.


	26. Hours Before Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Moran and Mary out of the way, there's nothing to distract John and Sherlock from their shifting relationship.

It’s probably the least romantic proposition ever made, but Sherlock appreciates it. He’s no good with subtle. What did he ever do to deserve John Watson?

“Pursue a romantic relationship? Are you always this charming? I thought you were supposed to be the romantic.”

John smirks, recognizing the affectionate tease.

“You aren’t like most people I chat up you know. Thought you’d appreciate something more straightforward and clinical.”

Sherlock’s responding chuckle fades and he’s entirely serious when he replies.

“I do John. You know I’m no good with sentiment. I have very little experience in this area, and what I have is decades old. I’m probably going to say something or do something that will hurt you. But if you’re willing to both correct and forgive me, I will try my best to make this work. Those two years without you made me realize how necessary you are to me. And I want to keep you by my side for as long as you’ll have me.”  

John looks taken aback. Obviously he had some doubts of his own, although after everything they’ve been through, Sherlock cannot imagine why.

“Really? That’s- I thought-“

Sherlock frowns.

“You thought what?”

John rubs the back of his neck while he replies.

“Just didn’t think you’d be so sentimental y’know? What with the whole ‘married to my work’ thing. I figured the best I could hope for was you treating the whole relationship like a convenience to keep me around.”

Sherlock nods, understanding why John would think that.

“I’ve been known to be sentimental from time to time. It’s simply rare that anyone puts up with me long enough to allow those sentiments to develop. It’s even rarer that those sentiments are returned. Keeping you around is just a bonus.”

John breaks into a huge grin; one which Sherlock can feel himself returning. John starts to giggle in relief, sure now his feelings are returned.

“We’re really doing this then. You and me against the rest of the world.”

Sherlock can’t stop staring a John. He wants nothing more than to kiss him, but prior experience tells him to wait. He wants to make sure John wants the same things as he does, explicitly. He doesn’t want a repeat of his last relationship.

“If that’s what you want. I’m given to understand that two people entering into a relationship can have different expectations. While I am loath to continue this conversation rather than moving onto something more entertaining, I do think it best we make sure we are both on the same page.”

***

The phrase speaks of old pain. John’s giggling is stopped by a wave of sadness. It’s clear that someone in Sherlock’s past hurt him deeply, enough that he sounds ready for John to leave him already. John doubts Sherlock will tell him what happened. He nods his encouragement for Sherlock to continue.

“When I say I want a relationship with you, I mean an exclusive relationship. Dates, kissing, cuddles on the sofa, whatever you want, but only with each other. No more boring women that leave you as soon as a case comes up. I also feel I should mention that during cases it’s possible that I’ll, to some extent, ignore you. It’s not intentional and I will try to adjust but please don’t take offense.”

John absorbs Sherlock’s nervous speech and smiles softly.

“I’ve always been a one-woman, or in this case, -man kind of guy when it comes to relationships so that’s no problem. I’ll take everything you’re willing to give me.”

John’s smile turns to a smirk as he addresses the other one of Sherlock’s concerns.

“As for cases, I already know what you’re like you daft git. I’d be concerned if you didn’t forget everything around you. I like your cases Sherlock. I like having your back, that’s not going to change. I’ll still try and make you eat and sleep, and you’ll ignore me. But maybe now, instead of falling into a mood immediately after you’ve solved something, I can distract you.”

Sherlock lets out a sigh of relief. John walks over to him and crouches in front of his chair.

“Seems we’re on the same page then. Can I kiss you now?”

Sherlock nods. John straightens out of his crouch to lean over Sherlock. One hand traces Sherlock’s jaw, the other comes to rest at the back of Sherlock’s neck. John leans in closer and gently brushes his lips over Sherlock’s, and is rewarded with a sigh. He returns his lips and increases the pressure against Sherlock’s mouth. He nibbles lightly on Sherlock’s bottom lip until both lips part. The first touch of their tongues draws a groan from John and he settles into Sherlock’s lap, intent on tasting every part of his mouth. They break apart, panting. John shifts, feeling the ridge of Sherlock’s erection against his inner thigh. He glances down at both it and his own matching bulge.

“Bedroom?”

***

**4 Weeks Later**

John bursts into the flat waving around an envelope.

“Sherlock! It’s here!”

Sherlock looks up from his microscope.

“What’s here?”

John sighs, unable to infuse it with the proper exasperation due to his grin.

“The decree absolute! I’m officially a free man!”

“That seems rather moot considering Mary’s been in Mycroft’s custody and essentially doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Yes well, the marriage certificate still bound me to Mary Morstan, who does exist in the eyes of the unsuspecting law. Can you at least be a little happy? No more dealing with the guilt of shagging a married man.”

Sherlock glares at him and John can’t hold onto his straight face any longer. He’s laughing so hard he needs to lean on the wall for support. Soon Sherlock’s face relaxes and he rolls his eyes. It is a few minutes before John’s wheezing evens out.

“We should go out tonight and celebrate. Angelo’s? We haven’t been there since before…”

Sherlock nods and gives him a small smile.

“I’m sure Angelo will be pleased to see us together again. Perhaps this time we can dispense with protestations over the candle on the table?”

John walks over to Sherlock and gives him a quick kiss.

“Definitely. After all, this time I am your date.”

The next kiss is more passionate and quickly leads them to the bedroom. John takes his time working his mouth over Sherlock’s entire body. He plans on savouring this. They still have hours before dinner.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's as sexual as my writing gets folks! Sorry if you were expecting something more!  
> But it's done! I've actually finished writing something! Woo Hoo!   
> I still have a few short stories planned within this universe. So expect this to turn into a series.


End file.
